The Dark Doorway
by FreakingScholastic
Summary: The Second Wizarding War is over. The Dementors remain, and after two betrayals, the Ministry has been trying to get rid of them. Unfortunately, they're invulnerable. Hermione Granger, now working for the Department of Magical Creatures, has been tasked with finding a solution to the Dementor problem.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, it belongs to someone more awesome.

* * *

**Chapter One**

The Ministry Library was a large place. There were hundreds of wooden bookshelves, each a dozen meters high. Each bookshelf stretched off into the distance, and was stuffed with thousands of rare books. The collection included the journals of brilliant wizards, comprehensive treatises on esoteric subjects, and a collection of the most dangerous cursed books in existence. If a magical possibility wasn't covered in this library, then it probably didn't exist.

Which might be a problem.

In the corner of the library, on a desk lit by a single candle, was a young woman. Open books were spread around her, each flipped to some important page. The woman's clothed were creased, and her hair was ruffled.

Hermione Granger had never attacked a problem for so long without having a startling epiphany that solved all her problems. This time, though, she was tired, and her hands were cramped from writing notes, but she hadn't found anything.

This wasn't because it was a unique, novel problem. Rather, every famous magical theoretician had tried their hand at this, even if only briefly. It's just that none of them had ever tried any solution beyond the obvious, low-hanging fruit. This left little for her to work from.

She was currently reading a compilation of declassified experiments that the Department of Mysteries had run at Azkaban. This had happened several decades before, when the Department had a little more leeway with what ethical rules they could break. Most records came across as practices in sadism.

The bulk of the papers covered experiments on the prisoners, but, near the end, there was a small section devoted to the attempts of some who wished to solve this same problem.

_We cannot kill the Dementors, only push them away. None of our methods of harming the dark creatures, whether magically or physically, have any effect. The Dementors have put up with our efforts until now—the leaders among them seem to view these experiments as amusing, and doomed to failure—but I feel that we cannot continue too much longer. If we do not find a solution, we will have to either quit, or risk the anger of the Dementors turned against us._

_One of our Unspeakables has been searching through every book he can find, looking for any curse that we haven't yet tested upon them. In the meantime, Samuel Regis has tried pitting Dementors against each other, with the promise of a Kiss to the victor. They appeared to fight, but did not do each other any damage. This could mean that Dementors are unable to harm each other, or just that they playacting. Surely they realize that, if they do have a weakness, it would be illogical to show us._

_We have but one remaining idea, and it is not a hopeful one. Our newest intern suggested that we have a Dementor Kiss a horcrux, or the person it belongs to, in the hope that the split soul will rupture the creature. This will not be an easy test to arrange._

Hermione sighed, and rested her head in her hands. This book promised new approaches to the situation, but instead it just gave two methods that were completely ineffectual. You could herd a Dementor, but you could neither control what it attacked, nor what it Kissed.

For all their mystery and power, the Department of Mysteries didn't have much to back them up.

Unless...

Hermione dropped her pen. She stared upwards, and pondered. She began to grin.

Finally, the epiphany had struck.

* * *

Academic tradition dictates that you don't use magic on books, particularly old books. Not because they were at risk of being damaged, but rather, because these books deserved respect. For this reason, the library didn't enchant the books to return themselves to their position. It had to be done manually.

Hermione carried each book back to its place, and inserted it carefully back on the shelves.

She headed out of the library, closing the door quietly behind her.

She was tired, but duty overruled comfort. She might have the found a solution, and she needed to report it.

It was always safe to assume that Kingsley Shacklebolt was working, no matter the hour. He was notorious for forgetting to go home. But he wouldn't be in his office.

Hermione checked out of the Ministry, then apparated to Perkins' Field.

It was a large patch of flat ground, named after the late Matthew Perkins, a muggle who had been murdered here during the war. It was one of those places that the Ministry kept ownership of, but rarely used for anything. The Death Eaters had embraced the chance to insult the Ministry by killing somebody on their territory.

In the middle of the field, standing in a wide circle, were several dozen witches and wizards, mostly Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. The LEPs were there to maintain the wards, and prevent unauthorised entry. Right now, this plot of land was the most dangerous place in all of Magical Britain.

Hermione walked towards, them, passing into the anti-apparition wards. She showed her badge to the closest wizard. "Hermione Granger, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Being Division."

The young LEP glanced up as she approached. His eyes widened when he saw who she was.

"Uh, well, excuse me while I check for enchantments."

Hermione usually enchanted her hair to stay in place, rather than have it imitate a bush. She had learned to avoid that charm if she expected to pass through this process.

The LEP began to cast several spells, checking for disguise methods, such as Polyjuice Potion or metamorphic ability. He then began to check for possession, influence of the imperious curse, confunding, and any recent memory charms. Next, he looked for magical traces, hidden enchanted objects, and any sign of a magical fight.

And, just in case a terrorist got creative, he checked for the presence of makeup or any sort of muggle technology.

"Sorry for the inconvenience," The boy said, once he was finished. He gave a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed that he had needed doubt a wizarding hero.

He was probably an intern, inexperienced, but watched from afar by cautious overseers. Someday soon, Hermione thought, he would be told not to apologise for what he was doing. An apology told people that what you were doing was undesirable. Doubtless, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would prefer that people thought of their tight security as normal.

"Don't worry, it's fine." Hermione gave a brief smile to the young wizard, before stepping past the boy.

For a brief moment, her vision blurred.

Before, she could only see a large empty circle surrounded by LEPs. Now, she could see dozens of Ministry employees. Some were talking, while others were attempting to do some work upon conjured desks. Several aurors had been pulled from the job of hunting down the remaining Death Eaters, and were scattered about the field, overseeing the situation.

This was clearly the jurisdiction of the Department of Magical Creatures, yet the people here were from every Department. Some were old, others young, some male, others female. There was only one characteristic that they all shared in common.

Each wizard or witch recruited onto this field was capable of casting a corporeal Patronus charm.

"Expecto Patronum," Hermione whispered, and her blue-white otter appeared. It turned about twice, before gliding upwards to join the menagerie.

Hanging in the air was a ball of purified doom. Over four hundred Dementors twisted in and out of each other, looking for an exit from their prison. They were held in place by a hundred Patronus, which surrounded the deathly creatures, preventing any escape.

Hermione had an active imagination. When they had first begun gathering Dementors onto this field, she had begun to calculate what would happen of something went wrong. She had also thought of how that danger would scale up, as more and more Dementors were herded into captivity

If the Patronus shield fell, even for a moment, the power of four hundred Dementors would incapacitate every witch and wizard present, instantly. Their souls would be taken within a minute, leaving only a field of breathing corpses. Then, angered by their imprisonment, the Dementors would head for the nearest town.

Thoughts like these enabled Dementors to oppress even those they cannot reach.

Kingsley was here, talking with Auror Fairburne at the opposite end of the field. Hermione jogged over.

"Miss Granger, what are you doing here?" Kingsley asked, "Better witches than you have overworked themselves. You really ought to get some rest."

"I think I may have an idea. Although it will require interdepartmental cooperation."

Fairburne grimaced. Everyone knew what 'interdepartmental cooperation' meant.

"Go on," Kingsley said.

"We can't physically hurt the Dementors, but what if we could kill them without doing any damage? We should try to use the Veil in the Department of Mysteries."

Kingsley thought for a moment, before saying, "It's an intriguing idea, but it deals with ancient and complicated magic that, I admit, I don't know much about. How likely is it that everything backfires?"

"Obviously, we'll have to confer with the Unspeakables on that," Hermione said, "But, from what little I know about the Veil, there's not likely to be a problem on our side. But I don't know whether, once going through the curtain, the Dementor would dissolve into nothingness, or if some version of their soul ended up in the afterlife. But I think I'll leave that problem to thanatological scholars."

Kingsley nodded, "I'll speak to the Department Head tomorrow. In the meantime, get some rest. You'll need it."

* * *

She stepped out of the fireplace, and into her home.

She always felt out of place here. The previous owners, along with all their family, were casualties of the Second Wizarding War, leaving their property as Bona Vacantia. With Hermione's parents still in Australia, she had no place to stay. In recognition of her part in the War, the newly-reformed Ministry had granted her this house.

It was only small, two bedrooms, currently without magical extension. It featured white walls and clean windows, and was, on the whole, rather subdued for a wizarding residence.

She hated the place. The empty house, all its occupants dead. She always felt alone here. It didn't help that her closest friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, were being trained as Aurors while hunting surviving Death Eaters in the Scottish Highlands.

Hermione made an effort to push her unease from her mind. She headed straight to bed, too tired to bother changing clothes. She fell asleep immediately, and spent the night dreaming of screams and monsters.

* * *

Authors Note: I've been working on this story for a long time, without much motivation. Finally, I decided to begin publishing it, rather than subject the existing chapters to a thousand iterations, in the hope that it will give me the motivation to actually work on the story. We'll see how it goes.

Hope you enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

****Standard Disclaimer: The Harry Potter franchise does not belong to me. If it did, Voldemort would probably have been turned into a grasshopper by now.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Death Eaters had been known to send deadly spells through owl post. For this reason, the Ministry suggested that all its employees set a stringent set of wards that would check all owls for any magic. This also had the benefit of keeping Howlers away.

Hermione had added her own, to look for explosives or biological weapons. These wards, however, were rather less efficient, and tended to delay owls by a good half-hour. This meant that she often missed the morning mail.

But Pigwidgeon was the exception to that rule, and it was pecking at her windows just after dawn.

"Just a moment," Hermione said, yawning, as she got out of bed. She opened the window, and let the owl inside.

She had a shower, and got dressed, while the owl ate some food she had prepared. Then, feeling fresh, she sat down to read the letter Ron had sent her.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Most of the DEs aren't very skilled, and have been caught quickly, now that the Auror Office has been organised. There are still several who we haven't found. Many are unimportant crooks who we don't know much about. But there are also a few big names, such as the Lestrange brothers._

_Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to tell you much, since everyone is paranoid about messages being intercepted. If you want to know more details, I can arrange to send you a Patronus message later. I can tell you that Harry is with me, and he says Hi. _

_Good luck with your work. And remember, you are brilliant. Don't let yourself feel down._

_Cheers,_  
_Ron Weasley_

Hermione grinned, reading the message. Ron's letters were frequent, and they always made her smile. And Ron never failed to encourage her in her work.

Today, she would be venturing into the Department of Mysteries. More than ever, Hermione needed all the encouragement she could get.

* * *

Hermione wasn't too surprised when she saw the Department of Mysteries had been rearranged. The Unspeakables were known for being secretive, and even the building layout was considered confidential.

The rotating room was long gone, replaced by a labyrinth filled with paralytic traps, magical illusions, and constantly changing spatial topography. It was designed to be only navigable by those who had been trained to know the solution.

Kingsley walked straight through the maze, neither stopping nor hesitating. Hermione followed closely behind. As Minister for Magic, Kingsley was one of the few people allowed to enter this place, and bring someone with him. Hermione would never been allowed here by herself.

They emerged from the maze, into a large room. The room's walls seemed to be carved out of a single, enormous rock. In the middle of the room were several marble statues. Each statue had a hollowed out face, and held a large weapon of some kind. Considering the mindset of the Unspeakables, these would most likely become animated in the event of an attack.

The room had no visible doors. Kingsley stood still, and waited.

The opposite wall cracked, and slid open, revealing a short man with dark hair and sharp features. He ignored Kingsley, and instead turned to face Hermione.

"Hermione Granger," He said, "I'm glad you found a way to enter the Department of Mysteries without violating any laws."

He turned, and walked away, without waiting for greeting or response. Hermione shared a grim look with Kingsley, before they both started after the man.

"Ignore his comments," Kingsley whispered, "He's just annoyed that a group of sixteen-year-olds were able to break in."

"So, that's the Department Head?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. His name is Patrick Coghlan. He has worked here for twenty years, but only ran the Department since the war."

"You know, I've heard a lot about their attitude, even joked about it, but I never realized they were really this aggravating."

"I suspect this Department is why we rarely get a competent Minister," Kingsley said. "Anyone with sense would rather not associate with them."

Patrick led them into his office. The door closed itself.

"Now, they told me you were coming, but didn't bother to inform me why. Do you need more help with your little project?"

"Actually, we think we have a solution," Kingsley said, "Hermione suggested that we use the Arch."

Patrick nodded for several moments, thinking. Then he gave a wide smile, and said, "I must say, it took you long enough. I had a report on this put together months ago. Give me a moment."

He pulled out his wand, and muttered a soft incantation, before saying, "Charlie, get me the prediction about Dementors being herded through the Gateway. Quickly, please."

He turned back, and gave another smile, "You must understand, I would have told you about this earlier. But see, I must have vastly overestimated the intelligence of your researchers. I thought you must have already considered, and dismissed, it for your own, unfathomable reasons."

The door opened, and a young man burst in, and handed a folder to Patrick.

"Let's see. 'Predicted Effect: Dementor vanished. Negative side-effects unlikely. Testing needed for certainty.'"

"In which case," Kingsley said, "Could you please prepare the Department. Remove the labyrinth, so that we can bring people through, and neutralise any traps or enchantments that might impede a successful test run. I will have Aurors guard your Department while the defences are down."

"Unacceptable," Patrick replied, "I don't trust your Aurors to safeguard our secrets, not from others, and certainly not from themselves. We will provide an outside entrance to the Death Chamber, but will leave our enchantments up for anyone who wishes to venture beyond."

"Very well," Kingsley said, "But if your paranoia causes injury to any of my Aurors, know that I will feel no regrets about replacing you as Department Head."

Patrick merely smiled, and beckoned them from the room.

* * *

"Infuriating man, isn't he?" Kingsley said, as he settled into his office chair.

Hermione nodded, and said, "I can understand social incompetence, but he was clearly trying to be abrasive."

Hermione wandlessly conjured a seat, and sat across from Kingsley. "But, I have to wonder, is it usual for them to fake a report to look impressive?"

"Not at all." Kingsley said, "Now, they'll probably spend the rest of the day going over their conclusion, just to make sure they didn't make a mistake. If they did, they'll come back, snidely apologetic, and say that some accident has occurred, and, most unfortunately, the Arch won't be usable for the next six months."

"However," Kingsley mused, "It isn't actually that common that someone thinks of an idea before them. They are brilliant, if only in arcane subjects that nobody really cares about."

"Looks like they have another reason to hate me, then," Hermione said, "I beat their researchers to a solution."

"Let's just hope it works," Kingsley said, "Speaking of, Cobb sent back a report, saying he's got two Dementors. I think it will better to use them as an experiment, rather than trying to pinch one off from the horde."

"Makes sense," Hermione said, "Are they leaders?"

"One is, I'm afraid, so we'll have to be careful around them. Unfortunately, they refuse to separate, so we have to take them together. I've told them to be cautious."

"Well, at least we'll be able to test both types of Dementor," Hermione said, "I doubt it would cause any difference, but we'll know for sure."

Kingsley just nodded, but remained silent. His right hand was tapping absently on his desk.

Hermione let her mind race over the situation again, searching for loopholes or weaknesses in the plan. She found none, but was only half-assured.

"After the war," Kingsley said, bringing her attention back to the present, "The Department of Mysteries asked for you. They were quite impressed."

"I remember that. I got the invitation, along with a note from an Auror strongly suggesting I delay my decision until I had more experience."

"Some people have accepted their invitations, not knowing what they were getting into. We thought you should meet them before deciding."

"Much thanks for that. The Department of Mysteries once seemed exciting. Now, I think I'd rather be a Death Eater."

"Well," Kingsley said, glancing at the clock on his desk, "Time's getting on, and I expect your Department Head will want to hear from you. Then, unless she has some objection, take the day off. You've been working far too hard recently, and you need a break."

"Thank you," Hermione said, rising, "And good day."

* * *

Dementors, being a magical creature, were within the Department of Magical Creature's jurisdiction. Generally, though, the Department preferred to avoid the dark creatures, and let the Department of Magical Law Enforcement take over.

Not this time, however. There were other problems—a dragon released in Wales, for instance—that took the Department's attention, but they weren't important or numerous enough to prevent nine-tenths of the employees from working full-time on the Dementor problem.

Half of those worked out at Perkin's field, providing their Patronus to hold the ever-growing Dementor swarm. Not many people, however, managed to remain productive when sitting underneath hundreds of soul-eating monsters. This forced those at the Ministry to work twice as hard.

Paper planes, otherwise known as internal memos, flew from one side of the office to the other. Not all the paper aircraft were enchanted so well as others, and some didn't make it to their destination until after they had collided with half a dozen obstacles.

Hermione traversed the congested airspace, practice giving her the skill to avoid any wayward craft. She made her way to the opposite end of the Department, where the Head had her office.

The door opened as she approached, letting her into the presence of Lydia Graham. Lydia wasn't a particularly powerful witch, but she was a sociable person and a competent manager, which had quickly put her into a high executive position.

"Exciting day, Hermione?" Lydia asked.

"Quite, and it's barely started."

"Oh, no, you don't," Lydia said, "Kingsley sent a message, told me he promised you the day off. You're not getting out of it."

"Please, I'm quite alright.."

"With all due respect, I doubt anyone would trust you to decide that for yourself. I know how often Ravenclaws overwork themselves."

"But I'm not a Ravenclaw," Hermione protested.

"Hermione, you're taking the day off. If you won't leave willingly, I'll have to fire you."

"You wouldn't." Hermione said.

"I suggest you don't find that out for certain."

Hermione sighed. "Very well."

She rose, and walked to the door. "Have a good day, Lydia."

She walked out the door, which had, once again, opened for her.

"Enjoy yourself!" Lydia called out after her.

* * *

The great thing about the Floo network was that it made every location equidistant, at least if it had an enabled fireplace. It was just as easy to travel to Hogsmeade as it was to return to her own, despised, home.

In a burst of green fire, Hermione stepped from the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks. The room only contained a dozen people, half of which turned to stare at her as she entered the room. She wasn't Harry Potter, but it was still hard to find somebody who didn't know who she was. Skeeter's most recent book had taken care of that.

She ignored them all, and stepped up to the bar. "Pumpkin Juice, please." She handed over a sickle in exchange for the drink, and retreated to a small table in the dimly-lit corner of the inn.

She sipped her drink slowly, and thought about everything that had happened. She was only just realising that, if her plan worked, she would have solved a problem that all her most idolised researchers, scholars, and magical scientists hadn't made a dent on. A small, egotistical part of her mind was starting to imagine her academic status after this whole affair. She would be remembered, in those dusty tomes she so admired, as the woman who had found a way to defeat the one invincible magical species.

But her excitement gave way to anxiety. Before she had gotten halfway through her drink, she pushed it aside, and conjured a candle and a large sheet of paper. In the feeble light, she began writing out what she knew, cross-referencing it all, and looking for anything she had missed.

She wanted to be certain that the Veil would work. If it wouldn't, she wanted to find another solution as fast as possible.

Kingsley would have tried to stop her, claiming that she needed a break from all this work. Kingsley wasn't here.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. Also, because disclaimers are boring, *insert humorous comment here.*

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The death chamber had not changed from the last time Hermione had been here, with one exception. The Unspeakables had blasted a hole into one of the walls, providing an external blasting charms had left the roof and walls rough, but they had smoothed the floor, so that nobody would trip.

Hermione came through the Department of Mysteries with Kingsley, but almost everyone else was using the new tunnel. Several of the guards, unsure of their ability to cast a Patronus in the presence of a Dementor, had taken the effort to create one early. These blue-white creatures were romping around the room, but mostly staying out of the way. There were also several Unspeakables, including Patrick Coghlan, who were keeping a very close eye on everything that was happening.

"Oh, good, you've arrived," Patrick said, "I would hate to see what would happen if your Aurors didn't have supervision."

"Is everything ready?" Kingsley asked, ignoring the barb.

"Not quite. My personal assistant is bringing some specimens from the brain room, you could do with the extra intelligence."

Kingsley nodded, "In that case, I'll tell Cobb's team to bring in the Dementors. We won't drag this out."

Kingsley created his Patronus wordlessly, then spoke to it. "Give Earnest Cobb this message. The chamber is ready, you may proceed."

The creature darted away, flying through the walls. There was no immediate response; Cobb's Patronus was guarding the Dementors, and couldn't be spared.

Hermione took the opportunity to cast her own Patronus. She knew she could create it in the presence of a Dementor, but it was best to be prepared, regardless. Hers was in the form of an otter, a beautiful creature, and until the Auror team arrived, she watched it as it glided around the room.

Then several Patronus came into view, casting soft light onto the tunnel walls. Two Dementors were pushed into the room. They flew closely together, as they had for the last several days. They didn't want to be separated.

One of the creatures continually kept glancing around, glaring at every person it saw. Its arms swung from side to side, grasping at the air. It looked feral, and uncontrolled. Hermione glanced at it, then looked past. It was was comparatively harmless.

The second creature held its back straight, and kept its head, underneath the cloak, up high. Its arms hung at its side, not limp, but poised. Slowly, it turned its head, until it was staring straight at her.

"Don't you love those things?" Patrick said, "Oh, if only we were still permitted to experiment on them."

Hermione said nothing, but a chill ran down her spine. The first creature was dumb, and wild, but this one was intelligent.

Cobb, and his team of aurors, followed the Dementors, and their Patronus charms, from behind. They guided their creatures as they made their way towards the centre of the room. Just before reaching the Arch, they halted.

The wild Dementor, no longer trying to stay with its leader, made a dart at the Patronus wall. It held, and the creature was flung backwards.

"Dementor." Kingsley called, his voice amplified, "It is tradition, in an execution, to ask for last words."

The intelligent Dementor stood still, staring at Hermione. Then, a voice entered their minds. It was harsh and metallic, like barbed wire being pulled through a steel pipe.

"Yes," It said, "Yes. Yes, I will speak. Tell Hermione Granger, tell her this."

The Dementor paused, perhaps for dramatic effect, if it had a concept of such things. The silence seemed to hang long enough to thicken and solidify, only to be shattered by the next words.

"You will die soon."

Hermione stared back at the dark creature. None of the other Dementors, even the intelligent ones, had said anything this apt.

The Dementor turned away, and was pushed forward. The Patronus parted to either side of the Arch, but forced the Dementors down the middle.

They touched the veil, and were sucked through, into nothingness.

* * *

"That," Hermione said, taking a deep breath, "Was scary."

Kingsley furrowed his brow. "I'll have to talk to Cobb. It must have overheard them talking about you."

"Typical," Patrick Coghlan interjected, "Your men take prisoners, and tell them everything they know. Its a wonder you survived the Wizarding War."

"Still," Hermione said, while starting to grin, "It worked. I was expecting something strange to happen, especially after what he said. But they just disappeared. It was actually rather anticlimactic."

"Hermione," Kingsley said, "Can I take this opportunity to say that you're brilliant."

"I'll second that," Patrick added, "You do seem moderately intelligent, when surrounded by these incompetents."

"I was sort of expecting them to explode," Hermione said, "I don't know why, but I kept thinking they'd burst into a giant ball of flame, and burn us all alive."

Down below, in the middle of the room, Patronus charms were popping out of existence. The Aurors were grinning, and slapping each other on the back. One tried to hug an Unspeakable, but he was quickly rebuffed.

"Patrick, get your Unspeakables to check the Arch for any residue magic." Kingsley said, "There wasn't any obvious side effect, but I'd like to be certain, all the same. I'll be in contact with the Department of Magical Creatures and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement about the best way to bring the rest of the Dementors here. Meanwhile, I'll have my office craft a press release strategy."

"I shouldn't expect to get my Department back anytime soon, should I?" Patrick said. "And once you've got rid of your Dementors, you'll have every foreign power begging you to take theirs."

"I expect so. But we should be able to set a high price. Perhaps we can pay off the debt we've been incurring from the repair of Hogwarts."

Hermione eyes lit up. "That'll be nice."

"Yes," Patrick said, "We do need to get the school back up and running. How else will we replace all the inept Aurors who get themselves killed?"

Kingsley, once again, ignored his comment. He would be working with Patrick Coghlan for a long time. He couldn't afford to let the Department Head get to him, especially not this early.

Hermione, however, reacted. "Oh, shut up already. You're just like Severus Snape, and not in a good way."

"Thank you, for that commendation." Patrick said, without blinking an eye. "However, since I have not been killed by a venomous snake, I fear the likeness is only superficial."

Hermione clenched her fists, and ground her teeth, but this time, she didn't say anything.

* * *

"You still look tired," Lydia Graham commented, as Hermione exited the elevator, and walked into the Department of Magical Creatures. "I think I need to give you another day off."

This time, Hermione didn't complain. The problem was solved, she had nothing she needed to work on.

"Sure," Hermione said, "But why don't you come with me. I'm sure you could do with some time off also, and we could get ice cream."

"Well, that does sound nice," Lydia admitted, "Especially now that Fortescue's has been reestablished. I always did say that the closing of that shop was the worst tragedy of the war."

Lydia spent several minutes signing papers, and giving orders to employees about what to do while she was not present, then the two women were gone. They Flooed to Diagon Alley, and made their way to the small ice-cream parlour.

"Harry always bragged about these," Hermione said, ordering a choco-nut sundae. "He claimed they were the best treat in the world."

"Well, I can't turn down the recommendation of the Chosen One, can I?" Lydia said. "I'll have one of those, also."

They paid for their desserts, and sat at a small table in the corner of the room.

"Wow, this is good," Lydia said, after several bites. "I'm not usually a chocolate ice-cream person, but this is brilliant."

After this, they ate without talking. It wasn't until they had finished that Lydia felt free to satisfy her curiosity.

"So, how did it go anyway? Kingsley said you were successful, but didn't give any details."

"Well, Patrick Coghlan was quite unsocial, but that's to be expected. Everything went swimmingly, there were no problems. However, before we killed the Dementors, something weird happened."

"What was it?" Lydia asked.

"One of the Dementors was a leader, and Kingsley asked for a last statement. It threatened me. Said I was going to die."

"And you believed it?"

"No, not at all. It was dead ten seconds later. But it was really creepy."

"I can imagine. Minister Fudge was terrified after the renegotiation of the Azkaban Contract. He claimed he couldn't sleep for weeks."

"That sounds about right." Hermione said.

Hermione's hands, without anything to do, were absently playing with her spoon. She was flicking it from one side of the bowl to the other.

"You know, I've been wondering." Hermione said, "Once we get rid of all the Dementors, what will happen to the Patronus charm? Will we still teach it as a messaging spell, or will it fade into obscurity?"

"Well, it can't be intercepted, so there will always be school children using it for secret messages." Lydia said. "But that's assuming we can get rid of all Dementors. We might be able to kill off the Dementors that are alive, but we don't know whether we can stop new ones from spawning."

"Well, I guess that's my next problem, then." Hermione said, "Although, to be honest, right now, I don't feel like working on anything."

"Well, you did just solve our biggest problem, so we're feeling rather generous. I'm sure we can set you up with a holiday."

"Oh, I would love to," Hermione said, "But right now, I doubt that will help the Ministry. You'll need all the Patronus you can get to handle the Dementors. Plus, I expect whoever crafts the press release will want me around. No, I can wait a few weeks."

"Plus," Hermione said, "Maybe, by that time, Ron and Harry will be back from Scotland. A holiday will be much more fun with them around."

"Well," Lydia said, "At least make sure you get enough sleep. Don't do any work that you don't need to."

"I don't think I could," Hermione said, "Currently, I'm a bit high on the intellectual thrill. I'd hate to cut that short by starting another problem."

"Oh, I know that feeling," Lydia said, "My brother always hated it when I refused to play chess twice in a row. I was elated over beating him, and if I started a new game, I would be too busy concentrating to feel happy."

"Well, I don't know much about chess," Hermione said, "That's more Ron's forte. Plus, I always feel a tiny bit sick when the pieces smash each other. But, yeah, that's what I feels like."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Somewhere, there might be an alternate universe in which I own Harry Potter. This isn't it.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The Ministry atrium was filled with reporters, each attempting to make their voice the loudest, the most noticeable. This was what Hermione stepped into.

Kingsley had held a press conference the evening before. While it had hardly satisfied all the reporters' questions, it had revealed that Hermione Granger had been the one who had found a way to kill Dementors. Every journalist with a shred of ambition had been clamouring to interview her ever since.

From the moment she stepped from the Floo, they crowded her, yelling questions at her as loud as they could manage. Only one stayed back, and, funnily enough, it was the one journalist with the most ambition, and the highest self-opinion.

Rita Skeeter stood apart from the crowd, clearly wanting to join in the fray, but unwilling to anger the one person who had discovered that she was an animagus. A term in Azkaban, while hardly as frightening now that the Dementors no longer guarded it, was still something Rita would wish to avoid. Even scarier would be the journalistic censure that would follow.

It was probably this same fear of Hermione that had led Skeeter to portray the trio, in her newest book about Harry Potter, in a reasonably favourable light. Hermione, especially, had found many accomplishments listed to her name that she was previously unaware of.

For now, Hermione wasn't in the mood for interacting with any reporters. She pushed through the crowd, refusing to answer any questions.

She signed herself into the Ministry, and took the elevator to the Department of Magical Creatures.

The Hogwarts seventh year students filled the room. Several teachers, including Minerva McGonagall, were supervising the field trip.

"Hermione," Cried Ginevra Weasley, running across the room. She threw herself forward, and hugged Hermione.

"I can't believe you did it," Ginny said, grinning. "You really did it."

Luna Lovegood had followed at a slower pace. Her head was tilted, and she stared at the two friends.

Hermione separated herself from the red-haired girl. "Wow, Ginny, I haven't seen you for several months. How are things?"

"Forget me," Ginny said, "What about you? You must be having a wonderfully exciting time."

Hermione remembered Patrick Coghlan. "Exciting, yes. Wonderful, not really."

Across the room, Hermione caught a glimpse of McGonagall watching them. If Hermione hadn't been a big part of why the students were here, she might have been cross. As it was, she just looked amused.

"Ginny, Luna, can we talk later? I don't want to disrupt your class too much longer."

"Sure," Ginny said. Luna was still silent. Her eyes, Hermione suddenly realized, were not watching them, but gazing past, into the distance behind them. Some thought had entered her amazing and bizarre mind, and had put reality on hold.

McGonagall, seeing that their conversation was complete, marched towards her. "Miss Granger, thank you for agreeing to do this. I'm sure many of these students will benefit from hearing of your research."

"It's no problem, Professor." Hermione said. "Although, as I've already told you, I'm really not the best person to instruct students in anything."

"Nonsense," McGonagall said, "You will make a fabulous teacher."

There were almost no employees from the Department of Magical Creatures here today. Lydia had offered the office as a makeshift classroom, to teach the students about the Dementors. Soon, they would all head downstairs, to watch the executions.

With the first trials successful, the Ministry had organised for all captive Dementors to be fed through the Arch. Many witches and wizards, including reporters, and the students of Hogwarts, had been allowed to watch the ceremony. Today, the seventh year was here, but the younger classes would have later opportunities.

"Good morning, everybody," Hermione called out, once the teachers had quietened the students. "I'm here to talk about the Dementors, and the Ministry's work with them during the last two months. However, since I didn't actually plan what I was going to say, I'm just going to answer questions. Does anybody have anything they would like to know?"

Two-thirds of the students raised their hands. Hermione, arbitrarily, chose one from the crowd.

"Miss Granger," One of the students, a tall boy that she didn't recognize, asked, "The newspapers say that you came up with the idea of how to kill Dementors. How did you do it?"

"A whole lot of research. I was reading every book I could find that covered the subject. And, trust me, the Ministry library is a lot bigger than the Hogwarts one. I was looking for any ideas, but, unfortunately, all the obvious methods had already been attempted."

Hermione was feeling nervous. This wasn't really her. She wasn't the type to get in front of a crowd and answer questions. Still, she continued.

"The actual idea came while reading about some experiments the Department of Mysteries had run in Azkaban. It brought back memories of the first time I had visited the Department of Mysteries, when I saw the Veil being used."

She didn't say anything more, but everyone would know what she meant. In her fifth year, Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had been killed by falling through the Arch. Each of these students had been in school, only a year behind her, when this had happened.

She pointed to another student, who asked, "One of Ministry officials told us that there were two types of Dementor, but she didn't explain. What are those two types."

Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class, while certainly dramatic, could not be considered comprehensive. Any student who had been a part of Hagrid's classes tended to find themselves asking obvious questions. Hermione wasn't surprised that students didn't know about the two divisions of Dementors, since she hadn't known either, until she was employed by the Ministry.

"There are some Dementors that have a human level of intelligence. We call these 'leaders,' because they often command the lesser, more primitive-minded, Dementors. Leaders are also able to talk to us, which is how they have been able to make deals with wizards."

"The most well-known example of this is the Azkaban Contract. The Ministry had a long-term arrangement with the Dementors that, in exchange for not attacking any civilians, unless ordered so, the Dementors would guard the British wizarding prison."

"Obviously, the Dementors never really upheld this contract, since the Ministry had no method of enforcing it. The Dementors turned against the Ministry in both Wizarding Wars."

"We've been imprisoning the Dementors for the last two months," Hermione said, "But we've been keeping the leaders at a separate location. The Dementors are much more dangerous when under the control of an intelligent leader, and we wanted to prevent that."

"Today," Hermione continued, "You will see the execution of the Dementor leaders. There are just over thirty leaders, and we considered it best that they were removed first."

"Does that answer your question?" Hermione asked.

"Umm, not quite," The student said, "What causes a Dementor to become a leader?"

"We don't actually know," Hermione said, "Although, we do have an idea. Do you all know about the Dementor's Kiss?"

The students all nodded.

"Some have suggested that a Dementor gains intelligence if it has taken a person's soul. They think that the Dementor is able to use the person's soul to reason. Obviously, this is conjecture, since we've outlawed the Dementor's Kiss, and we can't actually test this idea."

Feeling adventurous, Hermione took the next question from Luna Lovegood.

"Since Dementors are just vampires in disguise, is it true that the Patronus charm is made of concentrated garlic?"

* * *

The audience was seated behind conjured, strengthened windows, and those capable were asked to create Patronus, just in case. This would be a dangerous time for an attack, so each person had been run through a gamut of tests, to ensure that none of them were Death Eaters in disguise. Even so, Aurors were scattered throughout the crowd, watching for any suspicious activity.

Hermione was in the pit, once again next to Patrick Coghlan and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Of course you had to bring school children to the Department of Mysteries." Patrick said, "I'm just surprised you didn't bring the fifth year students first."

"This is not a veiled insult," Kingsley said, "The Headmistress of Hogwarts requested that the students be able to witness this once-in-a-lifetime learning opportunity."

"Oh, so we are actually attempting to teach the students, now?" Patrick asked, "I was of the opinion that Hogwarts was a glorified boarding house."

Hermione sighed. She gave a nod to Kingsley, then walked away. She was getting tired of the Department Head.

She headed towards the opposite side of the room, where all of the Aurors and LEPs were standing, with their Patronus, waiting for the arrival of the Dementors.

One of them, who she recognised as Auror Jeremy Ball, saw her coming.

"Did you know they caught an extra leader this morning?" He asked, as she came to stand next to him, "Just in time, I say."

"Really?" Hermione asked, "I didn't hear about that."

"Yeah. It was actually found in the London outskirts, so it wasn't too difficult to round it up in time for this morning."

Time passed quickly. Kingsley amplified his voice, and gave a rousing speech that Hermione barely payed attention to. He then sent his Patronus from the room, giving the Aurors outside the message to come in.

This time, there weren't just two Dementors. Thirty dark creatures came slowly into the room. From the corner of her eye, Hermione watched several hundred audience members pale at the sight of the ghastly beings.

Once again, Kingsley gave the Dementors a chance to speak their last words.

One Dementor pushed its way to the front of the crowd. Then, in a loud, grating voice, began to talk.

"This question has already been asked. We, we have already been spoken for."

To punctuate his words, one of them stepped straight through the Patronus wall.

* * *

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had done a splendid job on security. They had run background checks on almost all of the audience members. But nobody thought to vet the Dementors.

The Dementor disguise fell, revealing a masked Death Eater, with a drawn wand. Wordlessly, he cast two cutting charms, cutting down a LEP and an unprepared Auror.

A chink appeared in the Patronus shield. It was sealed almost immediately, but not before several Dementors pushed their way from the prison.

For a moment, Hermione froze. She recalled all the emergency preparations meetings, all the discussions of how bad things would become if there was a hitch in the executions. She realized, then, that their worst fears were playing out in front of her.

Then instinct kicked in, and she began running backwards, away from the Dementors, while raising her wand and casting spells. Several impacted the Death Eater's shield, but none were able to break through.

The Dementors swooped down upon the remaining Aurors. Some held fast, but many, in panic, recalled their Patronus. The shield wall fell, as half of the charms holding it ran back to their masters.

Thirty intelligent Dementors, aided by an allied Death Eater, swept through the room. Some of the creatures flew for the audience, but the strengthened glass held.

The audience, those that were of sane mind and magically capable, sent their Patronus charms down. With this many Patronus, the Dementors could not do too much damage, but many of them satisfied themselves by shielding the Death Eater. They surrounded him, preventing any dangerous curse from reaching him. Instead, they impacted harmlessly on the invulnerable creatures.

The Death Eater was casting as many fatal curses as he could manage, and moving with the Dementors as the Patronus pushed his cover around.

Hermione ran sideways, to make her a harder target, while firing explosive curses at the ground underneath the Death Eater. She couldn't hit him directly, but hopefully, the explosions, or the shrapnel, would harm him.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Auror Cobb doing a similar thing. He brought his Patronus next to him, so that no Dementor could come close.

On the opposite side of the building, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Patrick Coghlan were fighting side by side. Kingsley was using his Patronus to protect them both, while Patrick had sent his throughout the room, to aid others.

Up, in the audience, several hundred watched the scene with fear. Hermione managed to see Ginny Weasley, looking directly back at her, shouting at her. She was using her spare hand to gesture at some danger.

Hermione concentrated back on the current moment. A Dementor, noticing her spells, was charging towards her, its arms outstretched, its cloak curling behind it.

Hermione raised her wand, and whispered.

"Expecto Patronum."

Nothing happened.

She had already conjured her Patronus, and it was on the other side of the room. She had forgotten it, and now, her otter was too far away to help.

She lost all joy, happiness, excitement. The world seemed to darken. The Dementor came closer, its mouths gaping open.

She let her Patronus dissipate, and tried casting it afresh. Her arms were slow, and she couldn't remember a happy memory to cast with.

A dozen horrific images flashed before her mind. Fred Weasley, laying dead on the ground. The dreadful fear of seeing Harry, unmoving, in Hagrid's arms. Her parents, their memories newly restored, yelling at her, threatening to never speak to her again.

Then the Dementor was upon her, and these thoughts were replaced by a thousand more terrible.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Until I perfect polyjuice, and am able to steal JK Rowling's identity, the Harry Potter universe does not belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

She landed in a wide, open, green field. It was weird, being green. Green wasn't a colour she could really remember.

Her mind raced with images. Every time a rational thought began to form in her head, it was interrupted by another searing picture. Some of them made her whimper or weep from the pain it caused.

Some of the images, despite being terrible, were also unrecognizable.

* * *

He crawled from his bed, and made his way across the room. As quietly as he could manage, he opened the door, and slipped outside. He crossed the common room more quickly, and exited into the halls outside.

It was near midnight, so everyone save Mr. Filch would be asleep. And he could avoid Mr. Filch. Grinning, he skipped down the dungeon passages, whistling softly to himself. He loved this time of night, it was the only time he could really be himself.

But tonight, that was cut short. He came around a corner, and ran into two boys. They wore red and gold, and they had already drawn their wands. Large grins were etched upon their faces.

"Look," One said, "The little Slytherin is sneaking out at night. We should teach him his place."

The curses didn't cut very deep, but the loss of freedom did. For the next several years, rather than dare run into those bullies in the hall, he would stay in his bed, and cry himself to sleep. He was miserable, and he hated Gryffindor.

* * *

Others were more familiar, but this made them even more painful.

* * *

She tried to hold her head up high, as her classmates threw insults at her.

"Smartypants," One boy said, pushing her. She stumbled, and fell, cutting her knee on the pavement.

She didn't mind it if boys bullied her. She had read that boys often hurt girls if they secretly liked them. Maybe, in several years, they would grow up, and stop being so mean.

Except that it wasn't just the boys.

"Look, it's the teachers' pet," Cried Mary Goodall. "Little miss goody two-shoes."

The insults stung, and whenever she thought nobody was looking, she would retreat to the nearest bathroom to cry to herself. Books, while fun and interesting, were hardly satisfying company. But no matter how hard she tried, she could never make any friends.

* * *

Other thoughts, other thoughts, were so terrible, so eldritch, that it made her mind flee into the darkness of catatonia.

* * *

It was a creature of terror and despair. And there was nothing more wonderful than terror and despair.

It had been for several hundred years, roaming throughout the prison, spreading fear and oppression into human minds. Then, they had offered it a soul to suck clean. A young Death Eater, sentenced to death by the Ministry of Magic for his crimes during the First Wizarding War. A delicacy.

It feasted upon him, tearing thought from thought. All the while, it enjoyed the silent screams.

* * *

Hermione sat up, gasping for air. Her clothes were soaked in sweat. Her arms were shaking.

Her mind was filled with foreign images. Horror, torture, pain, hate and death. Now, however, while they were still scary, they weren't overwhelming.

She stared at her hands, and kept breathing. Slowly, her heartbeats slowed.

Once she felt calm, she began to look around.

She was in a small room. The walls were made from grey bricks, and the floor was cold stone. She sat on a small bed in the corner of the room, with coloured blankets. The opposite corner had a toilet, which was nestled behind a curtain. There was a wooden desk in the centre, with a cheap-looking chair. The room was dark, as the single lantern, which was hanging from the ceiling, was not lit.

The only entrance to the room was blocked by metal bars, and a large lock. Clearly, this was a prison cell.

She couldn't remember what she did to get here, or where here was, or even how she managed to be alive. Maybe, her memories were all a dream, or, more realistically, a hallucination. But, she couldn't know for sure, so she did the only smart thing.

She banged on the bars, and yelled as loud as she could manage.

"Oi, shut up, will ya?" Cried a voice, from the next cell over. "Some of us are tryin' to get some sleep here."

Hermione sighed, and collapsed back onto her bed. If anything she had seen in muggle movies was correct, it was best not to anger prison-mates, because they would make your life miserable. She could wait until the next morning before getting her information.

Nothing made any sense. She had memories of a person she had never met before, and from what she was recalling, had died before she was born. None of that seemed to make sense.

The last thing she remembered, clearly, from her life, was the Dementor execution. After that, it was like somebody had dropped a black hole into her mind. Her memories, at one point, displayed nothing but an awful emptiness. The memories around it were twisted and fractured, and made little sense, as though they had been distorted by the singularity.

Had she been Kissed? If so, why wasn't she receiving extreme and eternal torment that would permanently fracture her mind? She wasn't exactly feeling fine, but she remembered Sirius Black after he broke out of Azkaban, and she seemed sane by comparison.

Although, that line of reasoning did rely upon her being able to accurately assess the state of her own mind, which wasn't necessarily a safe assumption.

The other alternative was that this was the afterlife. Maybe a Dementor's Kiss wasn't permanent agony, but instant death. In which case, this might be some sort of heaven or hell, or, far more likely, a waiting place until she reached one of them.

As for the other person's memories, well, she had some ideas including reincarnation, but now she was just creating implausible hypotheses without any way to test them. It would be better to wait until she knew more.

She laid down, and did her best to sleep. She tossed and turned for hours, without much success.

hr/

"I see you're awake."

He was a mediwizard, dressed in white robes. He carried several vials, filled with various potions, on a belt around his waist.

Outside the room, dressed in grey, were two guards, each holding a wand, and doing their best to appear intimidating.

"Well, you're physically fine." The mediwizard said, after casting several diagnostic spells. "Can you talk?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Who are you?"

"Sorry. I'm John Lerridge. By the looks of it, there's nothing wrong with your brain, either. Welcome back the the land of the, uh, living."

"Where am I?" Hermione asked.

"Good question, but before I answer, I need to ask you several things. First, could you please tell me your full name?"

"Hermione Jean Granger," She said. She didn't see any reason to withhold it, and if she lied, she was famous enough to be easily caught out.

He took out a notebook, and jotted down what she said.

"And, how old are you?"

"Eighteen years."

He didn't look too surprised by her answer, but he clearly didn't believe her. "Now, not to sound condescending," John said, "But, are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes." Hermione said, a bit exasperated. "I do know my own age."

"Okay." He said, "Now, have any of your friends or acquaintances died recently.?"

It was an unusual question. Surely every English speaking wizard knew about the Wizarding War. Still, she doubted a truthful answer could hurt.

"Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Fred Weasley, and, just over a year back now, Albus Dumbledore. That's the short list."

"I see,"

John had written down each answer on a notepad. Once he finished, he glanced back up, and began to talk.

"To answer your previous question, there's a lot you need to know, but you'll pick up most of that knowledge over time. The short answer is that you are dead, and this is the next world."

It was an answer she had already thought of, so it didn't completely surprise her. Still, it made little sense, and, to be honest, this prison cell seemed awfully mundane for the afterlife. She wasn't yet sure she trusted him, but she could not conceive of a reason why somebody would lie about this.

"You arrived here three days ago. We found you in a state of catalepsy, and our examination revealed psychological problems consistent with someone imprisoned in a Dementor-guarded prison for a period of at least thirty years."

"Oh," Hermione said, "That's why you were asking my age. It didn't add up."

"Yes," John said, "Your appearance is simply a manifestation of your mind, at the time of your arrival. It only shows what you believe yourself to look like, which, in some cases, is quite inaccurate."

"Over the last several days, I've been working to piece your mind back together. Still, judging by the fact that you seem to have repressed several decades of memories, I seem to have been unsuccessful."

Everything was starting to add up. Hermione had been Kissed by the Dementor, but since it was executed shortly afterwards, she would have been sent here. John Lerridge had, somehow, managed to repair her brain, which is why she wasn't mad.

Still, she was curious about one thing. "So, if this is the afterlife, why am I in prison?"

"I'm sorry, uhh, Hermione, but this place is not the paradise that tradition or myth might have prepared you for."

"We need prisons just as much as the real world. More so, in fact, for various reasons. You are here because you were a prisoner in the wizarding world. If they thought it best to lock you up for so long, you must have done something terrible, even if you cannot remember what it was."

He looked sorry for her. Unless he was an incredible actor, he believed everything that he was saying.

The problem was, it made sense. Plus, if all Dementor leaders had Kissed at least one person, then she would have arrived here along with at least thirty others, and most of those would be criminals. They probably believed that the Ministry had held a mass execution, and she was one of those sentenced to death.

Killing a Dementor was considered impossible, so they wouldn't believe her if she told them the truth. So, she had to try another method.

"Mr. Lerridge," Hermione said, "Your theory is impressive, but wrong. I remember being killed, and I wasn't any older than I am currently. Unfortunately, my explanation is going to sound a lot crazier than yours. Those names I gave you earlier, can you get in contact with them? They will at least be able to confirm my age."

"I can try," He said, "But this place contains every person who has died for several millenia. There are a lot of people here."

"But," He continued, "You should consider the possibility that your memories are wrong. Your brain might have manufactured memories to plug holes in your recollection. It's quite possible that you are remembering a death that never occurred."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe does not belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

The door swung open, revealing a young man with red hair, a bright smile, and two ears.

"Fred?" Hermione asked, jumping to her feet. She engulfed him in a hug. "It's good to see you alive."

"Blimey," Fred Weasley said, "I didn't expect to see you here so soon."

Standing in the corridor outside, John Lerridge watched the reunion with interest.

"Yeah, sorry. I had an unfortunate incident with a Dementor."

"About that," Fred said, "I'm gonna need to ask you some questions."

"Make sure I am who I say I am?" Hermione asked, "That I'm not some Death Eater whose mind tried to escape the agony by taking the identity of somebody else?"

"Basically, yes."

"To save you some time, my parents are dentists, which means that they are muggles who work with teeth. A car is a muggle device that uses an internal combustion engine to move itself. A cell phone is an ingenious muggle device that uses radio waves to send messages to other cell phones. That should, at least, have convinced you I'm not a Death Eater."

Fred grinned, and leaned back against the brick wall. "Okay, that will do for now. How's things back there?"

"Well," Hermione said, "Harry killed Voldemort."

"We know all about that," Fred remarked,"Several people died of injuries in the following days. What about my weasel-headed siblings? What have they been doing since I've been gone?"

"Bill, Charlie, and Percy are already back to their previous jobs. Ginny's still in school, even though it hasn't been fully repaired yet. They started the school term early, to make up for all they missed last year. And Ron, well,"

She paused a moment, thinking about Ron. She had died, and left Ron behind. He would have been told by now, and would probably be weeping over her body. They, who were so in love, would be separated for decades.

"Ron's training to be an Auror." She said, finally.

"Oh, ickle Ronniekins," Fred said, with a smile, "I knew he had to grow up someday. So, what about Georgie?"

"You will be proud of him. He's overseeing the repair of Hogwarts. I'm sure you can imagine the number of secret passageways he's already added to the old castle."

"That is brilliant." Fred said. "Oh, if only I was there with him."

"Excuse me for interrupting," John Lerridge said, "But can I assume that this really is your friend?"

"I don't know a soul that could fake it," Fred said.

"While I hate to break up the reunion, the fact is, we have fifty others who arrived at the same time as Hermione Granger. I need to know exactly how she arrived her, in her condition. It could be critical in dealing with the others."

"Okay, then. Well, this is going to sound weird."

"Come on, you haven't seen weird yet," Fred said, "Wait till I show you Godric's Wager."

"Really, what's that? It sounds interesting."

"Please," John said, "There is plenty of time for this later. But I'm behind schedule right now."

"Okay, long story short, we found a way to kill Dementors. If the Dementor was later killed, then anybody they Kissed would probably end up here."

"But, that means—" Fred said.

"That a Dementor took my soul, yes. That would be why I appeared to be a long-term Azkaban convict."

"Then, I presume," John said, "You didn't perform an execution on war criminals, as I thought. Rather, you killed Dementors."

"Yes. Specifically, the intelligent leaders, which I am now convinced did hold the souls of at least one person each." Hermione said.

"Okay," Fred interjected, "So how did the Ministry do it? Kill the Dementors?"

"Remember how we invaded the Department of Mysteries in my fifth year? I remembered the Death Chamber, and the fact that the veil was able to instantly kill anybody. I thought that it would kill Dementors, regardless of the fact that they are physically invulnerable."

"Wait, you, yourself, thought of the way to kill Dementors?" Fred said, "Wicked."

"That actually makes sense," John said, with a nod, "Some of my patients have been claiming to be men who died centuries ago. I would have thought this theory unlikely, but the only other explanation seems to be some sort of time distortion. And I'd rather not think about chronological mechanics right now. It confuses me."

"So, how did you find Fred?" Hermione asked. There had to be at least a hundred billion people living here, and that wouldn't be too easy to search through.

"You might have noticed," Fred said, "I'm not exactly the silent type."

"He's been frightening people ever since he arrived." John said, "He calls them pranks, but I think that a better description is 'acts of terrorism.'"

"What can I say," Fred said, "I'm a visionary."

"Well, as you can surely imagine," John said, "It wasn't too hard to track him down."

"Once they let you out of here," Fred said, "I should show you around. In the meantime, I brought you some candy."

Hermione took the gift gracefully, then carefully placed it down a great distance from where she was standing. Who knew what enchantments he had put upon them?

John Lerridge, apparently, did not know Fred Weasley quite as well as she did. He didn't give the gift another glance.

"For security's sake," John said, "I can't let you go quite yet. While your story does fit the facts better than any alternative, and you have some people to back up your identity, we still like to be absolutely certain.

"I guess that makes sense," Hermione said. "You've got a pretty large population, so you need to be extra careful. It don't imagine it would be easy to find somebody once they get away."

"No," John said.

"Don't worry," Fred said, "If you stay here long, I'll bring you some visitors."

"Thanks," Hermione said.

Fred left the room, and John locked the door behind them. Fred strolled off, whistling, in one direction, escorted by a guard. John walked the other way, presumably to check on other prisoners.

She had slept much of the day before, but now, Hermione was devoid of fatigue, and she had very little to entertain herself. So, for the first time, she began to search through the desk in the middle of the room.

It did not have much, save for a replenishing supply of paper and several quills. And, for some unfathomable reason, a clock built into the floor of the bottom drawer. Which was weird, even for a wizarding society.

She pulled the drawer out, and set it upon the desk, so that she would be able to tell the time. Then, feeling bored, and a bit adventuresome, Hermione tried one of Fred's candies.

She sat still for several minutes, but nothing happened. She didn't turn into a canary, or bark like a dog, or talk in chinese. She tried another, just in case the first was a dud. It had no more effect than the first.

Hermione sighed, and settled herself in for a long, boring day.

* * *

Hermione woke up, with a tingling feeling on her neck. She lay still, listening, trying to identify what it was.

She didn't hear anything, so, slowly, she opened her eyes, and looked around.

The cell was empty, as far as she could tell in the darkness. But, outside the door, illuminated by moonlight falling through a window above, was a single person.

It was a heavyset man, wearing black robes without trim. His face was obscured by a large hood. He was leaning on a thick, wooden stick. He stood silently, unmoving.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked. She made sure to keep her voice calm. Whenever somebody scared her, she hated to let them know.

The person stood still, and didn't say a word.

Hermione stood up, and crossed to the other side of the cell. The head turned to follow her, but he still didn't say anything.

"Really, who are you?" Hermione asked. "And why are you staring at me?"

The stranger remained close-lipped.

Hermione sighed, and went back to bed. There wasn't much she could do, since she was locked up. But she refused to let him know he was bothering her.

She curled up in the blankets, and closed her eyes. She tried her best to ignore the intrusion, and go back to sleep.

Several minutes later, she heard the person turn, and walk away. His boots echoed down the corridor. Only then, could she manage to nod off.

* * *

The next morning, John Lerridge unlocked the cell door, and left it open.

"You're free to go," He said, "I got a secondary source to confirm your identity."

"Who died?" Hermione asked. How could they really confirm her identity, except by waiting for somebody from the wizarding world to die, and be able to confirm Hermione's death?

"Oh, no, it's not like that," He said, "Don't worry about it."

Hermione followed John from the cell, and down the corridor outside. The person in the cell next to hers, upon seeing Hermione leaving, gave her the finger. She ignored him.

"So, I was under the impression you were a mediwizard," Hermione said, "But you also seem to be the warden. What, exactly, are your responsibilities?"

"Well, this is only a small prison," John said, "It only handles those who only just arrived from the real world. And, amongst those, we only handle wizards and witches. We're not too worried about muggles."

"How do you know if someone is a wizard, when they first arrive?" Hermione asked.

"Do you remember how I told you that your image, or avatar, if you will, is based upon your mental identity? In the same way, each person who arrives, brings those objects that they need to complete their identity. For a muggle, this would include clothes and those cell phone thingies you were talking about yesterday, and maybe a watch. For a wizard, it would include their wand."

"Wait," Hermione asked, "You mean I brought my wand with me?"

"You brought the closest replica your memories could create. You'll get it back, after I sign you out."

It took half-an-hour to fill out the paperwork, and perform all the formalities. Finally, John handed her a bag, a thin book, and a handwritten note.

"All the things you brought with you are in the bag. I have barely told you anything about this world. That book is a much more systematic explanation of the mechanics of this world. I've also gave you directions to Fred Weasley's home, I'm sure you can manage from there."

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"Don't worry," John said, "It's been quite some time since I've had a case as interesting as you. Good luck."

Hermione turned to go, but, her curiosity overcoming her, she turned back.

"Umm, John. Those candies Fred Weasley brought me, well, knowing him, they were probably enchanted. But they didn't do anything."

"Oh, don't worry about that," John said, "This prison contains a basic magic-nullification field. Only those keyed into the system are able to perform any sort of magic."

"But, I thought that was impossible?" Hermione asked, "Researchers have been looking for anti-magic wards for centuries."

John Lerridge shrugged, "It might be impossible in the real world. This place doesn't always follow the same rules."

Hermione nodded. Then, she turned, and headed out the door, into the wide, open world.

This was a weird place, but now, she would have the chance to explore.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe does not belong to me. I am simply a fan.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

According to the first person she came upon, this city was named New London, presumably due to the fact that the founder was English. And it was a big, a very big, city. According to the same person—who may not have been a reliable source for information, since messing with new arrivals was likely a favorite pastime—the city had so many people that nobody had ever managed to count them all.

But it was impressive. Without the separation of the wizarding and muggle worlds, there was technology that was a fusion of the two. The most obvious, perhaps, were skyscrapers towering hundreds, and even thousands, of stories into the air.

Although, this was probably aided, not just by magically-strengthened architecture, but the fact that the afterlife wasn't quite as stringent about following the laws of physics.

Hermione was walking down the streets, well aware that it would probably take a month to get anywhere on foot, but glad for the freedom to do so, regardless. Her wand, which, even after her death, still fit snugly in her hand, was a joy to use again.

But, for some reason, ever since leaving the prison, and stepping through the chain of teleportations that took her from its secret location, she had felt a strange unease upon her mind. It felt like, somewhere nearby, there was a Dementor lurking in the shadows, waiting for the chance to tear apart Hermione's newly-repaired mind.

Part of that was probably natural nerves. Here she was, in a strange location, and also dead. It was an unusual experience. Most people would probably react violently if they learned they were dead, but Hermione just felt a rising sense of unease. Part of that was probably the adventure, the chance to learn new things. She was sure that, once all the novelty wore off, the emotional impact of not being able to see her parents for several decades might set in.

But there was another aspect of her worry. She still held—although she had tried not to think about it for the last several days—the memories of another person inside her head. Most likely, the Dementor that killed Hermione had previously Kissed this person, and their memories had, to some degree, intermingled.

Which raised several questions. First, how much did the other person know about her, and could he use it against her in any way? Secondly, was she holding only copies of memories, or the actual memories themselves. If the latter, it was possible that Hermione no longer remembered parts of her life, because they were inside another person's head.

It was a worrying thought, but not one she could do much about right now. She didn't see any holes in her recollections, so, for now, she decided to leave it be. She preferred to explore, and find out about this new world.

She strolled down the sidewalks for an hour longer, just enjoying the sights. It felt rather strange to walk openly, wand-in-hand, down city streets. Many muggles shuffled uncomfortably when she came near, or tried to edge away. Evidently, there were still tensions between muggles and wizards, despite the engineering feats that adorned the city.

When she had gotten tired of directionless wandering, she glanced at the note, which gave her Fred Weasley's address, and directions to get there. She called a cab, which seemed like a smaller version of the Knight Bus, and was soon on her way.

The taxi-driver was fidgeting in his seat as they made their way through the city-streets. It couldn't be a fear of wizards, because he clearly was one. Hermione put it down to unfamiliarity with the opposite gender, and decided to ignore it.

Fred was residing in a prestigious, multi-storied apartment complex, which Hermione was surprised hadn't kicked him out already, considering all the practical jokes he must be making.

They foyer was dotted with potted plants and leather couches. The front desk was made of some kind of fancy wood, which Hermione couldn't identify, because she didn't know much about wood, but it appeared expensive.

The employees were dressed in muggle clothes, but in ridiculous colours that suggested they were trying to appeal to both wizarding and muggle sensibilities. In her opinion, they were failing at both.

After giving her name, and stating the person she wished to see, she was given directions to the second-to-top floor. Once there, she headed down the the end of a long hallway, and found herself at the door of Fred Weasley's apartment. She reached up her hand to knock."

"Hello, hello," Fred said, yanking the door open, before her knuckles hit wood, "Great to see you."

"Hi," Hermione said, "Sorry if I'm intruding."

"If you were, you would have never found my door," Fred said, "Now, come here, and test some of these potions."

"I'm not sure I want to," Hermione said.

Fred sighed, "Fine then. I'll give you the recipe for every potion you taste, as long as you promise not to tell anybody, no matter the circumstances."

As always, curiosity overwhelmed caution. Hermione quickly obliged.

"I don't know if you read about this yet," Fred said, as he moved throughout the room, grabbing different ingredients to drop into the bubbling cauldron, "But the physics of this world are built upon what people think they should be."

"So," Hermione asked, "If everyone was deluded into thinking that gravity didn't exist, everyone would just float away?"

"Yes," Fred said, "But, if there were a significant minority of people who still retained their memories, the world would, most likely, remain as it was. The world doesn't like changing. Oh, drink this."

The potion was an unusual mix of green and red patches, which twisted in and out of each other. It tasted like burnt raspberries.

"Which would mean," Hermione said, her voice changing as she spoke, "That your world is based upon the understanding of the very first people who arrived. They would set the rules, then be the significant minority to prevent them changing."

By the time she had finished talking, her voice had turned deep and dark, like the growls of some harbinger of doom. He speech shook the windows, and rattled the picture frames on the wall.

Fred grinned at the success of his potion, then answered as he started working on the next. "Except that, if they were taught about the way the world actually functioned, they could change their minds, and reality would change with it."

"Wow," Hermione said, "So, those lucky people could just change the world with their minds. That must be heady."

"I imagine so," Fred said, "Drink this, it should annul the last one."

She glugged down the mixture, which was a more mundane brown mixture, with a taste of cardboard and a consistency of mud. But it did pull her voice from the depths it had plunged into.

"Just one question," Hermione asked, "If people could change reality just by thinking, why couldn't they just agree to, say, give everyone the ability to fly?"

"Well, as you could imagine, as time has gone on, and the number of people living here has increased, it has become harder and harder to change reality. Now, it's virtually impossible, which means that we have to work with what we have now."

"Which, I would imagine, is significantly different from the mechanics of the Earth," Hermione said.

"Yes, but only in subtle ways. Still, you can perform some incredible magics by taking advantage of these differences."

Fred handed her another potion. This one was a deep black, with golden lines cobwebbed across the surface. She drunk it quickly, hoping to avoid tasting it for too long.

It transformed her into a spectre of shadow and electricity. The space around her seemed to pull inwards, as though she were a black hole, and bursts of lightning cracked outwards, leaving burn marks throughout the room.

"Oh, that's brilliant," Fred said, "You look just like him."

"Wait," Hermione said, "Who am I trying to disguise as, and if they look like this, should I be afraid of them?"

"Oh, just the most powerful Dark Lord of all time," Fred said, with a smile that was dangerously wide.

"Wait, what?" Hermione said. "That is not something we should be doing."

"Oh, relax," Fred said, "He's in jail, and probably won't break out for another fifty years. We've got time for some fun."

Fred handed her another dose of the second potion, which returned her to her normal form.

"Fred, I do not intend to annoy powerful people just for the sake of some childish prank," Hermione said, once she had stopped discharging electricity.

"Oh, come on," Fred said, "If you work with me, I'll take you to meet Godric Gryffindor."

She pretended to think it over, but she knew she didn't have a choice. This was the man she had admired ever since she had been sorted into the house he had created. What could she do?

"I guess," Hermione said, with a purposeful sigh.

"Good," Fred said, "Now, I intended to make a third potion, to make you radiate a feeling of doom and existential nihilism, but it looks like you've already got that covered. Nice job, by the way."

"What?" Hermione said. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you can't expect me not to notice," Fred said, "You would have me thinking about philosophy, or some such nonsense, if I weren't such a cheerful bloke."

"Fred, really," Hermione said, "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"Really?" He said, "You feel like a Dementor. Not as strong, of course, but still scary."

Hermione suddenly remembered those people in the street, who were turning away from her. Plus the taxi-driver, who couldn't stop fidgeting on the drive over. Even her own feelings of doom, which she had mistaken for normal anxiety;

A Dementor had Kissed her, taking her soul and mixing it with another, and with whatever essence the Dementor could be said to possess. And, although she had now been separated from them, she was starting to suspect that she had retained more than a few memories.

On that first day, when Hermione had first thought of sending Dementors through the Arch, she had commented to Kingsley that she didn't know if some version of a Dementor's soul would end up in the afterlife. Clearly, it had survived, and it was attached to her.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter franchise belongs to JK Rowling. I am not JK Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

The art of magic annulment wards was not widely known. Fred Weasley was not among those who could create them.

The only person Hermione knew to have the knowledge of the spell was John Lerridge, who was located in a prison whose location was kept secret. Hermione doubted that she would be able to find it.

"Come on, Hermione," Fred Weasley said, "This isn't that big a deal."

"Fred, maybe you can handle having tea and biscuits with a Dementor, but I don't think anyone else can," Hermione said, "And those anti-magic wards are the only thing I know that will stop me radiating fear."

"And you're just going to remove your magic?" Fred asked. "There have to be better ways to stop this."

"Maybe," Hermione said, "But I'll have time to find those later. For now, I want to be able to talk to people without them unconsciously dreading me."

But it was more than that. Her own thoughts were being affected. And nothing scared Hermione more than the possibility that her mind was so vulnerable.

"Please," Hermione said, "Help me with this."

"Fine," Fred said, "But I still think this is a bad idea."

"Thanks," Hermione said, "Now, the problem is, the anti-magic wards Lerridge set up would stop him receiving any messages I might send. But we might be able to wait until he leaves the coverage of those wards."

"What if he sends somebody else?" Fred asked, "He sent one of his prison guards to fetch me. I wouldn't be surprised if he lived at the prison. That he's one of those people who doesn't have a life outside work."

"Could you contact the guard who came to fetch you?"

"Sorry," Fred said, "I don't know her name, so…"

"Great," Hermione muttered. "Okay, we can't contact John Lerridge directly. What government does the afterlife have? Would it be any help?"

"The political situation here is, well, complicated." Fred said, "But, the gist of it is, the government has no real power. Don't expect to get any help."

"Really?" Hermione asked, "The prison looked rather well-run. Not a product of an incompetent administration."

Fred shook his head, "The prison isn't a part of the government. Look, Hermione, there are at least a hundred billion people here. A lot of the policing is done by vigilante groups. That prison is one of them."

Hermione felt uneasy. She had studied plenty of politics, and she knew there were enormous problems with letting vigilante groups have any power.

She would never have expected the afterlife to be so flawed.

She sighed, and leaned against the wall in frustration. "I don't know what to do," She admitted.

"Look," Fred said, "I promised to take you to meet Godric Gryffindor. Maybe he can help. If he doesn't know that magic, he should know somebody who does."

"But…" Hermione said.

"He won't be scared off," Fred said, "Trust me."

* * *

She followed Fred through the Floo, to a place called 'the Lookout.'

It occurred to Hermione that, in such a large world, a place had to be fairly important to be called the Lookout. The Floo Network didn't accept duplicate names.

The green flames deposited her on a wooden floor, in a small, wooden cabin. Fred was pointing his wand at the fireplace as she emerged.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"This is a secure Floo exit," Fred" said, "I'm allowed in, but I had to hold the door open for you."

"Anyway, follow me," He said.

There were two people sitting at one of the tables, but Fred ignored them, and made his way outside.

Hermione followed through the door, and gave a squeal as she almost stepped off the side of a cliff.

The ground was several kilometres below, and obscured by several clouds.

Fred laughed. "Don't worry, there's no danger."

To illustrate his point, he stepped over the cliff. But, rather than falling, he remained standing on an invisible floor.

"Rather than having railings, which are boring, there's a floor that extends out about a dozen metres." Fred said, "So, don't go out too far, but it is safe here."

Tentatively, Hermione stepped off the cliff. She remained standing

"Wow," Hermione said.

This sorta explained why this place was called the Lookout.

She tried stamping the ground. The magical floor was as hard as concrete, yet there was no noise from her shoes hitting the ground.

"Okay," Fred said, "Notice how the cliff face curves away from you, out of sight?"

Yes," Hermione said, "It kinda looks like we're flying, on a giant floating rock"

Fred remained silent.

"Wait," Hermione said, "We can't be. We're flying?"

Fred grinned, and said, "Yep."

"But," Hermione said, "How is that, I mean, isn't that impossible?"

"There you go," Fred said, "Judging what you see based upon real world physics."

"Okay, I got it. We're in the afterlife. Still, this is rather bizarre."

"Actually, this was considered impossible, even here. But, back a few hundred years, Godric Gryffindor was prominent in the magical community. Many said he was the strongest wizard alive. Anyway, trying to show off, he bragged that he could do anything with magic. So, someone wagered that Gryffindor couldn't make a large building fly."

"And he did this?"

"Yeah," Fred said, "He went one better, and made a small town fly. You can't see it from here, but this rock has farms, trees, even a lake. This has become the home of some of the most esteemed minds to have ever lived."

"Wow," Hermione said.

"So, ever since then," Fred said, "This place has been called 'Godric's Wager.' There were a few problems at first, since there's not much air up this high, but they fixed that rather quickly."

"So," Fred continued, "Ever since they let me up here, I've been pestering Gryffindor to tell me how he did it. I mean, this rock is heavy, he must have done something amazing to counteract all that weight. But he won't say a word."

"Anyway," Fred said, "We've got a bit of a walk, so let's get going,"

They started to make their way overland, following a thin, but well-worn path. They climbed uphill for several minutes, before reaching a thick forest. As they walked through the trees and bush, they maintained a constant conversation.

It felt weird talking to Fred. The most prominent feature of his personality had always been the way he synchronised with his brother, like they were two representations of the same person. Now, though, he was alone. And without George to complement him, he felt, almost, like any normal person.

Yes, he was still Fred. He still spoke with that grinning cheerfulness, and he retained that same easy-going nature that made him so fun. But now, he no longer had a second person to urge him to new jokes or pranks, and without that, he seemed a lesser person.

Fred had only tried to prank her once, so far, and that was with the candy in the magically null prison. He seemed less colourful without his other half.

Although, he was planning to have Hermione impersonate the worst Dark Lord known to man, so perhaps she was reading him wrong.

They continued following the trail, which led them out of the forest, and into a wide plain. The grass was green, and flowers, saturated with colour, grew all over the place, displaying a wide variety of hues upon the perfectly formed petals.

The sun, which was nearing its zenith, shone down brightly, but it didn't scorch them. In the middle of the clearing was a large lake, with clear, blue water. The waves sparkled under the sunlight.

Hermione stared, with her mouth open. It was beautiful.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Fred said.

"It's what I expected Heaven to look like," Hermione said.

She didn't belong. Yes, this was a wonderful place, but it couldn't remain so while parts of Dementor souls were allowed in. Hermione felt like she ought to go, before she spoil this scene.

But Fred pulled her along. "Come on," He said, "I've got to show you this lake."

They ran across the grass. She noticed that, every time Fred stood on a flower, it would right itself as soon as his foot lifted. Similarly, his footsteps left no imprint upon the grass.

There were other people around, but not many. Every time they ran past someone, Hermione's heart beat faster. Surely they could sense her, know that there was something wrong with her. How many people would she scare away, simply by running past them?

They reached the lake, and Fred didn't even bother to take off his shoes before jumping into the water.

"Come on," He yelled, once his head had surfaced, "It's the perfect temperature."

"Sorry," Hermione yelled back, "My hair is hard enough to maintain as it is. I'd rather not aggravate the issue."

"Seriously? This is the afterlife. At some point, you have to stop worrying about your hair."

Hermione shook her head. "Sorry."

Fred rolled his eyes, then doused her in a conjured ball of water.

Hermione jumped as the water soaked her clothes. "What is wrong with you?" She yelled at Fred.

He grinned back. "Race you to the other side of the lake."

He turned, and started swimming away. With a sigh, Hermione jumped in after him. The faster she appeased him, the faster he would take her to Godric Gryffindor. And the faster she could remove this aura of depression that surrounded her.

Fred swam slowly until she caught up. He had started first, and hadn't wanted to take the advantage. But once she was even with him, he raced past her.

Fred Weasley was two years older than her, and an experienced athlete. There was never a chance she could defeat him. She lagged behind the whole race, and by the end, her head was pounding, and she wanted to crawl up on the shore, and collapse while she got her breath back.

Fred was grinning, as always, and he showed no sign of exhaustion.

"Wasn't that fun?" He said.

"Can we go now?"

"Fine, then," Fred said. He walked out of the water. His clothes dried, and his hair untangled itself.

"See," Fred said, "You needn't worry about your hair. This lake has plenty of charms on it."

Hermione waded out of the water, and onto dry ground. It felt strange, as the water just disappeared from her body. Her clothes returned to their normal state, uncreased, and her hair smoothed itself into a better state than Hermione had ever managed without hairspray.

"That's why I love this place," Fred said, "Forget combing hair, or ironing clothes. Just go swimming, and the magic does it all for you."

Hermione ran her hands down her hair. "Okay, the swimming was alright. But did we really need to race?"

"Indisputably," Fred said. "Now, we should go check the lighthouse."

A lighthouse on a floating rock was a nice image, but Hermione was getting tired of the delays. "Fred, can we just go talk to Gryffindor? I want to rid myself of this mental weight." She asked.

"Fine, then," Fred said, "But only if you agree to come see it afterwards."

They walked along the lake shore, half way back to where they had started. There were several buildings, the edge of a small town, on the bank of the lake. They headed past these buildings, and down the main street

This time, Hermione was sure her aura was affecting people. She could feel their stares, burning into her skin from every side, as they walked past people.

"Ignore them," Fred said, noticing her distraction. "They're not noticing you, just something attached to you. Even if you turned them all against us, their disapproval would say nothing about you, only about Dementors."

Hermione nodded, but knew he was wrong. The Dementor aura was affecting her also. She could feel it crushing her thoughts, dimming the colour in her eyes. Even this place, the image of Heaven, she wasn't enjoying all that much.

For now, at least, the Dementor was not just something attached to her. The more it influenced her thoughts, the more it became a part of who she was.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Since I wrote the last disclaimer, I have not bought the Harry Potter franchise. It, still, does not belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

The double doors were large, and lined with metal lions. The beasts prowled their vertical domain, and occasionally let out a silent roar.

Fred took his wand, and tapped the door several times. Then he stood back, and waited.

Hermione hands shook with excitement, mixed with nerves. She had always admired Godric Gryffindor, and to meet him was a dream come true. Not even the Dementor essence in her could suppress those feelings.

"Calm down," Fred whispered, "You'll be fine. You're the smartest person I know. There's no way you could not impress him."

Hermione smiled, thankful for the encouragement.

"Although," Fred added, "There is a chance, a small chance, that he'll throw you out just for having brown hair. You can never really tell with him."

"Really?" Hermione asked. Of course, when you idolise somebody, they tend to disappoint your high expectations. And she had prepared for her idols being less amazing, perhaps less visionary, then she had been led to believe. But she hadn't expected eccentricity.

"Well, it did happen once," Fred admitted, "Long before I was here. But then, Godric's been here for hundreds of years."

"I'm sure we can excuse one unusual act in such a long lifetime," Hermione said.

"Sure," Fred said, "And, in all that time, what other entertainment would he have?"

Their conversation was interrupted as the doors opened. The lions on the doors seemed to notice the movement, and they leaped away, onto the adjacent walls.

The open doorway revealed a large room, with a wide table in the centre. Three men, and two women, were seated around the table. One of the woman was reading, but the other four were engaged in a rigorous debate over some subject that they couldn't hear. As they entered the room, the conversation grew silent.

Hermione recognised half of the people present. One of the men, with an interesting moustache, was a Russian researcher who had died in the seventeenth century. The woman, the one who was a part of the argument, was a brilliant scholar who had done some amazing work in the eighteenth century, but was never recognised until after her death.

And, of course, sitting in the middle of them all was Godric Gryffindor.

"Fred Weasley," He said, "So nice to see you again. They've been telling me of your pranks. Although, you've been rather quiet, of late."

"Sorry, I got sidetracked," Fred said, "One of my friends died."

"Ah, yes." He said, turning to her, "I'm Godric Gryffindor. I believe you are Hermione Granger."

Hermione stuttered for a moment, before managing to get out a strangled "Yes."

How did he know who she was? From the smile Fred was giving her, it was clear that he hadn't said anything.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Godric said, unperturbed by her nervousness. "I've actually been hearing about you for several years now. I was talking with those who died, and following news of your war. Your name was mentioned with surprising frequency."

Hermione wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"Please, have a seat," He said, wandlessly conjuring two large chairs.

"Mr. Gryffindor," Hermione said, not comfortable with calling her hero by his first name, "Do you know why we're here."

"Not a clue," Godric said. "Although I have several guesses."

"Suffice to say," Hermione said, "There was an accident, when I was sent here. A portion of a Dementor's soul seems to have spliced with my own. Ever since, I've been affecting people, including myself, with a weakened form of a Dementor's aura."

The woman reading the book glanced up. "I can attest to that," She said, "She's making it bloody hard to concentrate."

She turned back to her book, and continued reading.

Hermione continued, "Right now, I do not know of any method to counteract this, except for using magic-nullification wards. But, I don't know how to make them. I came here looking for something to help."

Godric sat quietly for half a minute, steeping his hands together. The room was silent, except for the noise of Fred Weasley tapping on the table.

"I admit," He said, "This is a rather unusual situation, and I do not know enough to help you find a better solution than removing your magic. Although I could send a message to Rowena, since she invariably knows more than I do."

"However, I could lend you a book on the irregularities, and possible malfunctions, in this afterlife reality. This book includes, among other topics that might interest you, the mechanics that lead to anti-magic measures. I'm sure this could help you."

"Thank you," Hermione said, smiling at the man.

"And, Hermione Granger," He said, "Please, feel free to come back when you are finished with that book. It will be a pleasure to converse with you when my thoughts are not being influenced by your current constitution."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said.

He waved it off. "No harm has been done."

* * *

Once Hermione got outside, she jumped up and down, laughing.

"I can't believe it," She screamed, "I really just met Godric Gryffindor. And he talked to me. And gave me a book."

She did have the foresight to put the book on a conjured table before exploding into her dance of joy.

"I mean, really. This is the most brilliant thing that has ever happened to me."

"You might want to be careful," Fred said, "He's got observation wards in the town. He can see you."

"Oh," Hermione said, freezing, mortification crossing her face.

"I'm sure it's not a problem," Fred said, "Gryffindor isn't like Harry; He likes being famous. I doubt you'll put him off."

Hermione gave a nervous grin, but didn't risk leaping about again.

"So, the lighthouse?" Fred asked.

Hermione picked up the book, very carefully, and followed Fred.

A brisk walk later, and they found their way to the lighthouse. Fred pushed open the rickety, wooden door, and started leaping up the stairs.

Hermione followed, heaving the large book up the spiral staircase, to the platform at the top of the lighthouse.

She wished that she could have used a featherweight charm on it, so that she could carry it upstairs without effort. But you don't use magic on respected books. Especially if that book was given to you by Godric Gryffindor.

"Oh, watch your feet," Fred called out. "The next step is missing."

She hopped over the gap, and continued climbing her way up.

Somebody had put a lot of effort into making this lighthouse appear old and dilapidated. After all, it would ruin the image if it had a new coat of paint. It couldn't bring about that empty, lonely feeling.

Once they reached the top, Hermione put the book down, and took the chance to look around.

In the middle of the circular room was the lamp. It was enormous, but covered in dust. The mirror, which was supposed to reflect the light outwards, was cracked, and shards of glass lay on the floor.

The paint on the walls was peeling. The wooden roof was partly eaten away, and some of the boards dripped water.

Hermione stepped out the door, onto the walkway on the outside of the lighthouse. For the first time, she got a good look at the floating island they were on.

The small town, and the adjoining lake, was situated in the exact middle of the island. They were in a small depression, surrounded by the thick forests that they had walked through before.

Around the side of the rock, she could see the Lookout, where they had arrived. It was a log cabin, small and homey, situated right on the edge of the rock. From here, she could also see exactly how indefensible it was. As the primary entrance onto Godric's Wager, it would be the best place to stop an invader.

The Lookout was surrounded by high hills, and the interior sides of those hills had been cleared of trees. If there was an attack, the defenders would have the advantages of high ground and plentiful cover, while the attackers would have to run uphill against opponents hiding in the forest.

But that was just the geographical defence. Most likely, the area would be laced with defensive charms. And, quite possibly, the cabin was wired with heavy explosives."

"It looks like they're fanatical about security here," Hermione commented.

Fred nodded, after following her gaze to the log cabin. "Most of the world's foremost magicians live here, or at least visit frequently. They keep it locked up fairly tight. I only got in because my pranks amused some of them. Also, they wanted to know about the war."

There were other features that stood out. On the far side of the island, partially obscured by trees, was an astronomical observatory built on a piece of rock sticking out of the side of the floating island.

Off to the left, amongst the trees, was a series of black spines and towers, with interconnecting walkways. From the unusual arrangement, she deduced the setup to be a training battleground.

But, despite the interesting sights on the island, the best view was outwards, and downwards.

Mountains, valleys, rivers, forests, meadows, and even some farms. The land spread out before her, wide open in every direction. There were several low-flying clouds to block the view, but mostly, she could see everything for miles around.

In the far distance, she could spot the pale blue of an ocean. On the shore, her eyes could make out a city, with immense skyscrapers and sprawling streets. But from here, the enormous city was miniscule.

It was beautiful, but Hermione was unsatisfied. Even in such a scene as this, she couldn't shake the feeling of doom upon her. She had been cursed, and it darkened her best thoughts.

"Okay," Hermione said, "I can't wait any longer. I've got to read this book."

She headed inside. But before she dare open the book's covers, she conjured a better roof. She would not allow the slightest chance that her book was damaged. And the weather was fine for now, but Hermione tended to get involved in her reading, and she might not noticed if it changed.

As she read, Fred amused himself in his own way. From the corner of her eye, Hermione was able to see him conjuring little Quidditch athletes, and watching them play each other. The snitch was a little, microscopic ball of gold that shone whenever it ventured into the sunlight.

But, soon, Hermione became immersed in her reading, and she forgot all about Fred, all about the world outside.

* * *

Hours later, Hermione stopped reading, and looked up.

"Oh, you're alive," Fred said, "Apart from turning the pages, you've barely moved."

"Well, this is engrossing," Hermione said. "But it's getting dark. I'll need to find somewhere to stay, and I don't think they'll want squatters here."

"You can sleep at my apartment," Fred said, "I've got a spare guest room. If that's too awkward, then I can rent another room for you."

"That'll be fine," Hermione said, "I know I can trust you. And if somebody wants to create unfounded rumours about what two young people are doing together, then I don't really care."

Fred nodded. Hermione closed her book—after making sure she knew the page number—before she let Fred help her up.

"Okay, if you have time tomorrow," Fred said, as they walked the trail back to the Lookout. "We should test out those potions we tried this morning. Appear to a few people, scare the wits out of them, and let them spread the rumour."

"Well," Hermione said, "I don't know if I'll be up to it. We'll see."

"That's great news," Fred said, "Now, the plan is, we don't stick around for too long, or somebody will be observant enough to notice we're not really Him. But if we show up, impress them, and disappear, they'll be spreading the rumour, and the fear, everywhere. We'll end up pranking an entire city."

They arrived at the Lookout, and took the Floo back to the apartment complex. As they were headed upstairs, to Fred's apartment, Hermione asked, "That sounds great and all, but I do have to ask. Why aren't you the one impersonating this person? Why me?"

"Sorry," Fred said, with a grin, "That's a secret."

They reached Fred's front door, and he used a key to let them in. The look wasn't an ordinary lock, and a simple Alohomora wouldn't have sufficed. This society clearly understood the wizarding world, and was able to craft locks that weren't easy to pick, even with magic.

They entered the apartment, and Hermione set her book on the table, prepared to continue reading. But Fred, inquisitive, interrupted her.

"How's the research going, anyway?"

"Long or short version?" Hermione asked.

"Hey, I've got time," Fred said, "Try me."

Hermione loved it when people said that.

"There's a lot you can find out by looking in the obvious locations," Hermione began, "Some of the most amazing discoveries were made when, rather than assuming something as fact, because of how obvious it seemed, somebody bothered to actually look."

"The results of these investigations might be rather counter-intuitive, but that doesn't always mean they're wrong."

"To put this in context," Hermione said, "The belief that the world is flat, and the belief that the sun rotates around the earth, both seemed obvious at one point in time. After all, it just appears that way. Once people began actually looking, though, this turned out to be incorrect."

"Anyway, over the last several hundred years, many of the researchers here have had nothing better to do than to analyse the structure of the afterlife. The first thing they did was throw out any assumptions about how the afterlife was created. They've found some interesting things."

This morning, it was Fred telling her about how the afterlife worked. Now, their places had switched. That was one reason, out of many, why Hermione was so enthusiastic about study. She loved telling people about things that they didn't know.

"Earlier today, when you told me that the physics of this world are construed from the beliefs of people, I found it rather odd. It seemed to indicate one of two things. Either the creator of the afterlife was dedicated to letting humans rule their own lives, for better or worse, and left the running the afterlife to them. Or, this creator wasn't actually powerful enough, or possibly, intelligent enough, to create a fully-functioning reality. It had to rely upon the inhabitants for the actual creation of the laws of nature."

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "It turns out I wasn't the first one to think about this. Rowena Ravenclaw, in particular, has spent centuries researching the nature of this world, and comparing it to Earth."

"And, since the laws of physics, here in the afterlife, are malleable, she has also put a lot of effort into learning the exact rules of how the laws of nature are determined. You can call it metaphysics, if you are willing to discard the previous definition of the word."

"And, what has she learned?" Fred asked. He was probably attempting to hurry her along, since she was taking the full liberties of her long explanation.

"Basically, that this world has a boatload of flaws. I mean, the design of this world implies that the creator intended that the laws of physics would be determined based upon what the residents expected, with one injunction."

"Immortality?" Fred asked.

"Exactly. If anyone dies, they are almost immediately resurrected."

"I actually tested that," Fred said, with a grin. "It hurt, but it works."

"Idiot," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "But anyway, they found a lot of other problems, because of certain laws that seem to have been hard-coded into the structure of the world. For instance, if you travel to an unexplored area, the world will generate new terrain for you. But some researchers managed to fool the system into thinking they were elsewhere. They could walk right off the edge of the world. They had to apparate back."

"That's weird," Fred said.

"I know," Hermione said, "To be honest, do you know what this place has been compared to? Recent scholars have said it is similar to a muggle video game. It works as long as you don't push the program too far, then it starts glitching."

"Oh," Fred said, "So this suggests that the your second idea is correct. God let humans create the laws of physics, because he wasn't able to do it himself."

"Exactly," Hermione said, "This creator, a deity, if you wish, just created the framework, and let us fill in the rest. But he didn't do a very good job of it."

Fred appeared thoughtful, "That's actually very interesting news."

"Now, one of the glitches regards magic," Hermione said, "Things work totally different here. Magic doesn't work through the same mechanisms as it does back on Earth. Some have suggested that the metaphysics of this world isn't capable of creating magic, in the normal way, and what we experience as magic is basically a hack. A cheap, inelegant method that achieves the purpose, but opens the door for a whole host of interesting exploits."

"Such as nullifying magic?" Fred asked.

"Exactly. It's impossible to suppress magic entirely, on Earth, but it's not actually too difficult here."

"So, have you found a recipe for those wards?" Fred asked.

"I found something better," Hermione said, grinning. She turned the book around, and showed the page to Fred.

"This first potion will nullify somebody's magic until they take the second potion, or until it wears off, after about a month. We can buy the ingredients tomorrow."

Fred nodded, "Good. But, before you turn your magic off, we so need to test that Dark Lord disguise."

"Sure, anything," Hermione said, "And, thanks, for taking me to Gryffindor."

Fred just shrugged.

* * *

Hermione closed the book shortly afterwards, and retreated to the bed in the guest room. Even in the afterlife, she still needed sleep.

She didn't get any sleep.

Who, but Fred Weasley, would outfit his guest room with a snoring bed?


End file.
